


Growl Once For Yes

by DestielsDestiny



Series: My Head Hurts Verse [1]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Charles, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Logan Needs A Hug, Logan is confused, M/M, Memory Loss, POV Third Person Limited, Post-X-Men: Days of Future Past, Stream of Consciousness, Victor is a bad kitty, feral logan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 03:17:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7297321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielsDestiny/pseuds/DestielsDestiny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan. His name is Logan. That feels wrong somehow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growl Once For Yes

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [XavierineFest2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/XavierineFest2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> After Raven retrieves Logan from the water, they work together, since he has nowhere to go. The Mafia have a price on his head if he ever shows up in NY again, and he doesn't remember what happened after that and before Raven. He dreams at times of an elegant English voice speaking his name, but buries it as yet another part of his long history, best left in the past.  
> Charles in Westchester thinks the Logan he knew is long gone, and lets them be, save for occasional contact with Raven. Then Raven and Logan encounter Victor Creed. A sweltering storm of memories and rage sends Logan into a berserker state--enough that Charles senses it in Cerebro from halfway across the continent.
> 
> This is the first work in a series which will respond to the prompt more fully as it goes on. Will be from several different points of view. Also, I'm sure Logan is feral mode wouldn't actually think like this. Or use this much sentence structure. It's my first time writing a Feral pov though. All mistakes are mine, I own nothing.

The Wolverine growls. He feels it rumble out from his chest, radiating through every corner of his head. He grabs blindly at his skull, sharp brightness flashing suddenly around his scalp. Something is wrong with his hands, his claws. Everything is heavier, shinier, more painful. 

And it hurts. It burns, stings, stains. There is red everywhere. Distantly, he realizes the growls have turned to howls, screams, whines, cries. 

There is no moon tonight, only inky blackness and darker shadows. The air smells thick, wrong, heavy with fish and smoke. 

The blue skinned female from before shifts into a crouch in her tree. He doesn’t remember how she moved from the ground, from the points of his claws digging into her skin, ruby liquid spilling delicately across sapphire scales, to her position far above his head. Wary, watchful. Waiting. 

Waiting. Still as stone, only her scent a swirling mass of certainty and...resignation?

He sniffs the air. Nothing but smoke, fish. No fear. No movement either. No one approaching. No one near for miles and miles in all directions.

And yet she still waits.

He thinks that should be worrying. He tracked a Leopard once with his pack mate, the word brother ghosting around the memory. She had moved with a singular grace. 

She had died badly. His pack mate had been cruel. Too cruel. They had fought. They always fought. He remembers something tasted like salt. Then like blood. 

Blue should be afraid. Should be. There should be fear. Anger. Even wariness. Even just a whiff. There should be... The Wolverine throws back his head, a yowl releasing. 

He misses his alpha. 

Suddenly, fear slides into the clearing, loud enough to choke the breath from his lungs. Distantly, he realizes it comes not from above his head, but within his own chest. 

He slinks down the trunk of the tree, curling futilely into as small a shape as possible. 

He misses his brother. 

00  
Somewhere far off, a voice is talking, low and soothing. It’s not Blue, still safely in her tree. There is no other scent around. He paces the clearing, just to be sure. 

Nothing. Not so much as a bird. 

The voice comes again. He can almost make out the words. Correction. The word. Only one. A name. But whose?

 _Logan._

Distantly, the Wolverine remembers that is his name. His. That feels wrong, somehow. 

He is surprised that he doesn’t make a single sound as he melts bonelessly to the forest floor. 

The fall is as soft as the descent. And then there’s nothing, for a blissfully long time. Nothing but silence, not even the nightmares that dog his every hour, dreaming or waking. 

00

 _It’s alright Logan. It’s only me._

He jerks awake with a gasp, everything still muffled and dark. The air is tangy, cigarettes instead of wood smoke. Close, indoors perhaps, no windows open. 

Logan, he thinks, distantly remembering that he has a name now. The voice told him that. 

A soft scent filters in over the copious amounts of nicotine burning his eyes and lungs. Bad cologne, old sweaters, leafy tea, dusty books. 

_Charles._

Logan doesn’t remember what a Charles it, but somehow he knows one thing for certain. 

It’s something familiar. Something known. Something good. Something safe. 

He blinks into the darkness, a hand brushing against his forehead without a single whiff of fear or hesitation. The hand is rough, calloused yet unwrinkled. The scent is whisky on sweat, hesitation on certainty. 

"Hello, old friend." That doesn't belong to him. And yet it does. Logan blinked again. Breathed in, deeper. Shook his head. 

_Over here._

Something settles in his chest, his claws sliding home of their own accord. And for once, the movement doesn't hurt. Only stings, sharp and focused and sure. 

Logan blinks open his eyes. "Hello...Alpha."


End file.
